


Show Me Where My Armor Ends

by imfallingforyoureyes102



Series: We Mend Each Other [4]
Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Abusive ex boyfriend, Angst with a Happy Ending, CEO Oliver Queen, Eventual Oliver Queen/Felicity Smoak, Executive Assistant Felicity Smoak, F/M, Felicity is attacked and Oliver is always always there for her, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, Mutual Pining, Oliver Queen and Felicity Smoak Friendship, Oliver Queen/Felicity Smoak Angst, Oliver Queen/Felicity Smoak Fluff, Protective Oliver, Protective Oliver Queen, Season 2 feels, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-16
Updated: 2019-11-10
Packaged: 2019-11-19 00:41:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18128684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imfallingforyoureyes102/pseuds/imfallingforyoureyes102
Summary: 'Oliver moves quickly as he shuts the water off, his entire upper body getting drenched in the process, and he blankets a towel around Felicity’s body before crouching down next to her.She doesn’t move – doesn’t do anything really – and Oliver presses his nose against her wet hair.“I’m here,” he whispers, finally letting the fear in his voice come through. “I’m here Felicity, you’re okay. You’re okay, you’re okay, you’re okay.”'The one time Team Arrow decides to take the night off is the same night Felicity is attacked by a demon from her past who seems desperate to pick up where he left off in terrorizing her life. It's then Oliver realizes that, no matter how hard he tries, he can't always protect the people he loves. What he can do, though, is be there to help mend every fractured piece back together.So he's there - as a friend, as a protector, as anything and everything and nothing at all, and the two of them find themselves in the secluded cottage that the Queen Family used to spend every holiday at.





	1. I'll Keep You Safe

**Author's Note:**

> Hi friends, so this is going to be a multi chapter story. I'm not sure how many yet, but this is definitely, definitely NOT a one-shot. No, no, too much to say, too much to do, too much to explain. 
> 
> I am really proud of this one and excited to write this. Mostly because it's not just a oneshot, and I feel like I'm branching out a bit more. 
> 
> Let me know what you think! (If it seems realistic, if it's too weepy, etc). I'd really love some constructive feedback! 
> 
> Thanks so much for all the love my dudes, and be sure to check out the other fics in this series. 
> 
> Also, you can take this as in the universe as the other fics in the We Mend Each Other series (this would be after "This Love" and "In Sickness and in Sneezes," but in terms of "Come to Me, My Sweetest Friend" idk where this bad boy would go. 
> 
> I would say before, because this is the first time Oliver's meeting Donna. BUT, in the Sweetest Friend fic, they're only - factually speaking - still "friends." So, whatever works for you guys, go for it!
> 
> Enjoy!

Oliver can’t breathe.

He’s felt rage before – hell, his time on the island had cultivated and refined fury to a point where it had become the most lethal weapon. But the anger he feels now is mixed with fear and panic, and it blurs the edges of his vision and burns him from the inside out.

When he reaches for his door handle, he realizes he’s shaking.

And for a second he can’t think, but then he hears the sirens and sees the glare of the flashing blue and red lights on his skin and suddenly all he can think about is getting inside.

_To Felicity. Get to Felicity._

He steps past the doorman of apartment and flies towards the elevators. Oliver lets out a frustrated growl as he jabs at the button, and after another five seconds of nothing he’s jogging towards the staircase and sprinting the eight flights up to Felicity’s floor.

By the time he reaches her door, he doesn’t know if he’s panting from exertion or on the verge of a panic attack, but he shoves both thoughts down as he reaches for the key under the little Gnome statue that Felicity had decorated with a little Santa hat and candy cane just last week.

His heart squeezes at the memory, but then the door is open and he’s staring at Detective Lance, another officer, and a teary blonde woman that looks a lot like Felicity.

“Where is she?”

“Sir - ,”

“Where is she,” Oliver snarls, eyes flashing as he steps towards the officer, finger jamming into his chest. He’s only been there a few seconds but he already wants to snap the guy’s wrist. His eyes scan the room, and they skip to Quentin Lance before falling on the blonde woman.

“Mr. Queen, you cannot just barge in here -,”

Oliver turns his eyes on Quentin, and there must be something there that he sees because the Detective’s eyes go from harsh to sympathetic in a flash.

The blonde woman looks like she wants to speak, but all she does is point towards the bathroom, and Oliver’s feet are already moving.

He knocks on the door.

“Felicity?”

Oliver waits a second, only hearing the sound of running water.

He knocks again. “Felicity, it’s Oliver - ,”

“She won’t let anyone in,” the woman says, her eyes wide with tears. Oliver turns to her. “Every time we try, she starts screaming to get out.” She lets out a sob before covering her mouth, and Detective Lance awkwardly pats her shoulder.

Any other time Oliver would try to reassure the woman as well – he’s pretty sure she’s Felicity’s mother – but her words only intensify the unease in Oliver’s chest and he turns back around with more urgency.

“Felicity,” he says, a bit louder this time. He jostles the handle and finds it unlocked. “Felicity, sweetheart, I’m gonna come in okay?”

No reply.

Oliver lets out a desperate huff and looks down at his feet. The next time he speaks, his voice is unwavering – insistent.

“Felicity, I’m coming in.”

With that he pushes the door open just enough to let himself through. There’s no noise – no retaliation – and for a split second he’s relieved.

But then he sees her with her legs drawn up tightly to her chest, back to him, curled up under the scalding spray of the shower head. Her back is stained red from the water and, despite the heat, she’s shaking all over.

Oliver moves quickly as he shuts the water off, his entire upper body getting drenched in the process, and he blankets a towel around Felicity’s body before crouching down next to her.

She doesn’t move – doesn’t do anything really – and Oliver presses his nose against her wet hair.

“I’m here,” he whispers, finally letting the fear in his voice come through. “I’m here Felicity, you’re okay. You’re okay, you’re okay, you’re okay.”

Oliver waits for a moment before straightening up from his kneeling position and stalks back out to the living room.

 “Out.” The words fall from his lips, almost like a growl. “Get out. _Now.”_

His eyes move between Lance and the other officer. His shirt is soaked and he’s shaking so much that he can barely focus on the frowning men, and he knows deep, _deep_ down that he shouldn’t be so aggressive to the people trying to help, but this is something that Felicity can deal with later.

 “Mr. Queen - ,”

“ _Get. Out._ ”

Oliver’s chest is rising and falling with each deep breath he takes, and he doesn’t realize that he’s got his hand curled into a fist – he doesn’t realize that the voice that’s leaving his mouth is more Arrow than Oliver Queen, and it’s only when Felicity’s mother steps in that he remembers to breathe.

“She’ll give her statement later,” she whispers.

“Ms. Smoak, the longer - ,”

“You need to leave. _Now,”_ Oliver’s distraught voice cuts off the officer, a strong distaste for the man already in his mouth. He turns to the older man, his tone a bit softer, face a bit warmer. “Quentin, _please_. She’ll be able to talk later.” His eyes flash to the bathroom before whispering out, “Just not now.”

He doesn’t wait for an answer, praying that Quentin’s hatred of him would be placed on the back-burner at least for now, and he’s already turning back towards the bathroom to Felicity.

She hasn’t moved much. Her eyes are still fixed straight ahead and she’s pulled the towel tight around her, but other than that she’s completely void of anything.

Oliver can feel his throat tighten, but he buries that feeling deep down as he crouches next to the tub.

“Felicity, sweetheart?” He starts, voice quiet and gentle. “Let’s get you out of the tub, okay?”

He wants to cry when she looks at him. It’s the first form of acknowledgement he’s able to get from her and it’s so numb that something inside of him breaks. She just stares, her eyes pooling with tears, and Oliver presses his palms against either side of her face as he thumbs her cheek.

“You’re okay, Felicity. You’re safe. I’ve got you, okay? I’ve got you.” His voice trails off in a whisper, and though Felicity says nothing, the pressure he feels from her pressing her face into his hand speaks volumes. He runs his thumb along the span of her cheek on last time before pressing his lips right between her eyebrows.

“C’mere,” he whispers delicately. Oliver makes sure the towel is completely covering Felicity before he gathers her into his arms. She tucks her head under his chin and he takes a second to just hold her – to just reassure himself that she’s here, that she’s okay, that she’s _alive._

Because when Dig had walked into his office earlier that night and told him to check his phone – that _It’s Felicity, man. Something’s happened –_  he hadn’t known if any of that were true. He thinks it has to be some sick joke – that the _one_ day they take off from playing vigilante, reality has to go and remind him that he can’t always protect the people he loves.

His throat tightens and his eyes start to burn so much so that he has to press his face into Felicity’s hair to avoid breaking down. He takes a deep breath and turns, not caring that the two of them are dripping water everywhere, and he starts when he sees Ms. Smoak staring at him with wide eyes.

“Did they leave?” Oliver’s voice is raspy and drained and he’s already moving past her when she gives a quick nod, and by the time he enters Felicity’s bedroom, he feels less like he’s about to break down and more like he wants to hit something.

But then he glances down at the girl who’s already fallen asleep in his arms, and all he can feel is an overwhelming sense of _something_ and it nearly brings him to his knees.  

It’s also then he realizes that Felicity is unclothed under her towel, and while the two have them have started paving their way to a relationship a bit deeper than work colleagues and nighttime vigilante pals, they’re still only friends and helping her into clothes doesn’t quite seem to be an action that falls into that category.

Donna’s already entering the room when he turns to look for her, and though the two of them had never officially met before, it’s an unspoken understanding that let’s Oliver know that Felicity will be fine in her mother’s arms for right now. He doesn’t want to leave though, doesn’t want to stop running his calloused hand through her hair or watching the rise and fall of her breathing, but he knows Felicity needs warm clothes and a long nap far more than he needs her to be near him.

So, he does the only thing he can do – does the only thing that can slightly ease the slamming of his heart and shaking of his hands – and he presses his lips to Felicity’s hairline and leaves the room before the tears in his eyes threaten to spill.

“Oliver?”

The man in question freezes, and for a second, he’s not sure if he has the mental strength to talk to anyone right now. But then he looks up and is met with Digg’s worried face and kind eyes and he remembers that he’s not the only one who loves Felicity Smoak.

“Jesus, man. What the hell happened?” Digg gestures to Oliver’s shirt, and suddenly Oliver notices the cold draft against his wet clothes. He doesn’t care though, and he slowly lowers himself down on the couch as he drags his hand down his face, too tired to do anything about it. Digg brings over a glass of water, and Oliver gratefully downs the glass in one sip before glancing up at his friend.

“She was in the tub when I got here. Just sittin’ in it. _God_ Digg, it’s like she wasn’t even there,” Oliver says in a tight voice. “She was just staring straight ahead.”

“Do you know what happened?”

Oliver bites down hard on his lip, eyes fixed on the floor. He’s about to say something when the sound of heels against hardwood fills the room.

“She hasn’t said a thing since she came home,” Donna Smoak says, rounding the couch and finding a seat in the armchair across from the two men. “I came up here from Vegas, you know to surprise her – she never answers my calls so I just thought to show up, but that’s not the point.” Donna shakes her head.

Oliver can’t help the small tug of his lips as he stares at the woman in front of him, the rambling so very reminiscent of a blonde, IT girl.

“I was waiting here and the door opened and she just walked in and _God,”_ Donna squeeze her eyes shut and takes a few steadying breaths. Digg reaches across the coffee table and gives her arm a squeeze, and Donna gives him a small smile.

“She had blood on her face, blood on her knees. Her clothes were ripped. I-I didn’t know what to think. I tried to ask her what had happened, if anyone had – had t-touched her - ,”

The sound of glass shattering fills the air, startling the three of them, and it’s then Oliver realizes just how hard he was holding the cup. The glass has cut into his hand, and he’s bleeding a little, but that doesn’t stop him from squeezing his hand into a fist in an attempt to ground himself.

“Swee-,”

“I’m fine,” Oliver manages to push out, eyes fixed on Donna. “What did she say? What did Felic - ,” Oliver can’t even get the sentence out as his breathing picks up, and now it’s Donna who places a reassuring hand on Oliver.

“It wasn’t anything like that. That much she told me. Said someone attacked her as she was leaving work – said she was able to able to fight him off with the pepper spray that her friend had made her keep in her bag.”

At that, Oliver throws an appreciative look at Digg, knowing full well that the larger man had placed a bottle of that stuff in almost every purse of Felicity’s after the two of them had watched her unsuccessful attempts at boxing.

“Then she disappeared into the bathroom – wouldn’t let anyone come in until you came.”

She looks up at Oliver, and it’s then all of them realize that proper introductions hadn’t officially been made.

“I’m Donna Smoak, by the way. Felicity’s mother.”

Oliver tries to reply, but his voice finally seems to have left him. He feels a swell of gratitude when Digg fills the silence.”

“Digg. I’m a friend of Felicity.”

Donna smiles and then turns to Oliver. “And you’re Oliver Queen, Felicity’s boss.”

It’s more of a statement than anything else, but Oliver nods along.

“Also a friend of Felicity?”

Oliver quickly recognizes the absurdity of the situation – the CEO of a fortune 500 company being this concerned of an employee’s well-being. But he can’t find his voice – can’t do anything but stare into the eyes that he had grown so familiar with.

“He is,” Digg says, swooping in. “I believe Felicity was the first person Oliver befriended after coming back to Starling. Fixed his laptop.”

And suddenly, his voice is back and Oliver smiles slightly at the memory – at the flashes of pink lips and red pens and innocent quips that had brought so much light into his life.

“I thought she was going to kill me,” he rasps out. “Thought I had purposely broken the thing just to offend her.”

“That sounds like my Felicity.”

“Yeah.”

Donna stares at Oliver for a long while, a hint of question and intrigue in her eyes, before speaking. Digg phone starts ringing, and he quietly excuses himself from the living room.

“She’s out like a light, now,” Donna says, a sad smile gracing her lips.

Oliver just nods, too lost in thought to really say anything insightful, and Donna continues.

“Thank you, for taking care of my Felicity.”

Oliver’s attention sharpens at that, and it’s with such adamant thankfulness that Donna looks at him.

“Of course,” he murmers. “She’s done the same for me.”

A confused look falls on Donna’s tired face, but she brushes it off. Her eyes flicker to the clock and the flashing 3:00 AM plastered on the screen, and Oliver’s eyebrows shoot up at just how late it is.

“I’m gonna head to bed,” Donna says, standing up slowly.

“I’d like to stay here tonight, if that’s alright,” Oliver asks quietly as he follows suit. “I just – I can’t, I -I-,”

He takes a shuddering breath and is startled when Donna closes the distance between the two of them and pulls him into a hug.

“I think Felicity would really appreciate that,” She pulls away from him, giving his arm a motherly squeeze. “She was right about you, you know? You’re a good man, Oliver Queen.”

With that she turns and heads to Felicity’s room, and Oliver is left with a lump in his throat and a warmth in his body that he hadn’t felt in a long time. He stands there for a bit before Digg returns with a frown on his face.

“What is it.”

“It’s all over the news, man.”

Oliver doesn’t need to ask why that is. There had already been gossip going around about a relationship between Queen Consolidated’s CEO and executive assistant. Anything to do with Felicity – at least anything this big – was bound to start circulating the news.

That doesn’t stop the anger he feels from welling up inside of him, like a volcano ready to burst. He’s across the room and to the window within seconds, and while the sidewalk below is clear for now, he knows that they’ll be cameras and critics there in the next three hours.

“Cops don’t know anything about who did this?” Digg asks.

“Felicity hasn’t talked to them yet,” Oliver says, turning to his friend. “But I don’t know Digg, she seems a lot more shaken up for this to be a random mugging or robbery. I mean, she’s faced a lot of shit in the field.”

Digg frowns, watching Oliver’s face under the stream of moonlight flitting in through the window.

“Well,” Digg says. “Whatever happened, we’ll figure it out, Oliver. We always do. You just – just be here for our girl, alright? I’ll be back in a couple of hours – bring you back some clothes, okay?”

Oliver nods, mouth drawn in a thin.

“Don’t do anything stupid,” Digg adds as he makes his way to the door. Any other day Oliver would completely disregard that request, but he knows, just as Digg does, that there is no way he is leaving Felicity’s apartment tonight.

It’s only when the front door is shut and locked – only when there is no sound coming from inside Felicity’s room – that Oliver lets the dam that has been building within him break. He stumbles to the bathroom, his breath coming fast and short, and he stands there staring blankly at his reflection for a good while.

It’s then he notices the blood on his hand – then, when he is looking for a towel, that he sees Felicity’s bloodstained and torn clothes strewn across the floor.

It’s also then that Oliver completely falls apart, collapsing to the floor and retching into the toilet with shaking hands and a tearstained face.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope this chapter is coherent/up to par! I should NOT be working on this right now, as I have a Physics exam and am entirely ~fucked~ for. Yay!!
> 
> Thanks so so much for the support and feedback I got on the first chapter. I know I don't say this enough, but the kind words and critiques you guys leave here mean the absolute world to me and, more often than not, really serve as sources of inspiration and happiness on the not so good days. So thank you, from the bottom of my heart, for all your support. 
> 
> Please, please let me know what you think!

Oliver doesn’t sleep that night. Not really.

He normally isn’t one for long periods of sleep anyway – not since after the island – but each time he tries to close his eyes and shut off the noise in his mind, he jolts back up within seconds, his heart pounding so fast that he has to put his head between his knees for a few minutes to control his breathing.

When he’s calm enough to resurface, he leans back against the couch and scans the room. It’s still dark out – can’t have been more than half an hour or so after Diggle had left and he had picked himself up off the bathroom floor – but there’s so much chatter in his head right now that sleeping is inconceivable.

It’s with heavy steps that he makes his way over to the bathroom, and for the next hour and a half, he spends his time cleaning. He starts with mopping up all of the water that had escaped onto the floor, taking great care to keep Felicity’s shoes away from the mess.

Oliver spares a glance at the pair of pale pink heels.

Felicity’s face had lit up like the sun when Dig had acknowledged them one night at the Foundry, and the two had spent the evening prowling the streets of Starling City with the light hearted chatter of bargain deals and discount codes over the coms.

Oliver’s chest constricts as he bends to pick them up, cradling them tightly to his body as he takes the mop and other cleaning supplies out of the bathroom. He doesn’t know where to put the shoes and he stands blankly in the living room for a good while with the shoes pressed securely against his torso.

 _Where does Felicity keep her shoes? Is she one to keep them by the door? Does she have a shelf in her closet dedicated to the vast array of heels, sneakers, and flats that he_ knows _she owns? Or does she toe them off, after a long day of work, and leave them where they land?_

Oliver doesn’t know why it bothers him, not knowing these small details about Felicity’s life – but it carves a cavity so deep in his chest that he’s left staring at the shoes with his eyebrows drawn tightly together. After all, they’re friends – friends enough to dine at Big Belly together or share an occasional joke over text. But as he stands in the dark apartment, taking in the bright throw blanket and the assortment of multicolored knickknacks lining Felicity’s shelves, Oliver slowly realizes that he knows next to nothing about the small, blonde spitfire that had becoming such a permanent fixture in his and Diggle’s lives.

An unsteady breath falls from Oliver’s lips as he pulls himself from his thoughts, and he settles for delicately placing the shoes on the small coffee table in front of the couch. He gives them a small, affectionate pat before straightening back up again, and wanders around the small space that Felicity has come to call home.

It’s only when he sees his ragged and worn reflection in the mirror that Oliver realizes he’s made his way back into the bathroom.

He doesn’t know what he’s doing there. The bathroom itself is pristine, probably cleaner that it had been before that night. But then his eyes drag to the corner where he’d pushed Felicity’s clothes, and he can feel his knees start to give again as he takes in the blood that soaks them. There’s nothing left in his body to heave up – nothing left in his being to do anything but let himself slide down and slouch against the wall.

Oliver drops his head back, the fabric of Felicity’s shirt grasped tightly in his fist.

His mind is somehow both blank and absolute pandemonium. He’s too numb – too tired – to form a proper thought, but the way the events of the past night flash through his mind leaves him wired enough to stay awake.

It’s a losing battle, though, because while his mind is a symphony of chaos and what-if’s and worst case scenarios, his body is done trying to fight.

Oliver’s eyes slip shut.

For a moment, he can here the rhythmic drip of the bathroom sink – can feel the softness of the bathroom mat beneath his fingers – and in the next moment John’s cracking a joke in the lair and it’s Felicity’s chime-like laugh that’s ringing out, bouncing off of the walls and filling the room with light and warmth and life.

There’s a smile tugging at Oliver’s lips as he tries to remain stoic because he’s pretty sure the two of them are making fun of him. He starts to turn around – a quip of his own dancing on his tongue – and -,  

_“Oliver!”_

The room shifts.

Oliver’s eyes flash up at Diggle’s yell and suddenly they’re outside. He goes to lift his arm, but it catches, and he glances down to see he’s dressed in a black suit. His hands paw at it, trying to loosen the fabric that’s making it too hard to breathe.

 _Black_.

Everyone’s dressed in black. Everywhere Oliver looks he sees a face scrunched up with tears – he’s sees agony and pain and heartbreak and suddenly a ten-thousand-pound weight is crashing into his chest. He spins around, spying the tip tops of hundreds of headstones, and the thumping in his chest only speeds up when his eyes land on a beautiful, chestnut casket at the front of the small gathering of people.

Bright yellow garlands surround the casket, and it’s only as he inches closer that Oliver realizes what they are.

_Sunflowers._

Vibrant, beautiful, joyful sunflowers.

They’re so out of place – so foreign against the sea of black – and Oliver’s breath falls in fast pants as he nears the front of the crowd.

He catches a glimpse of a pale face and pink stained lips – spots a beam of sunlight dancing along the strands of golden curls.

His eyes rake upward, taking in the dark rimmed glasses perched delicately on a button nose and -,

_“Felicity.”_

Oliver gasps, jolting awake, his hand flying hard and fast into something solid. His heart is tripping over itself, running a race it can’t win as he scrambles backwards, pressing himself further into the wall, trying to ground himself before the scathing panic that’s blazing through his veins takes over.

It takes him a second to acknowledge the pair of bright blue eyes blinking in front of him. He starts again, this time in shock, and then the blond hair and blush red cheeks sharpen into focus and - ,

“Donna?”

Oliver’s question comes out as a feeble croak. He squints against the darkness as he scans the room, his lips drawing into a tight line when his eyes fall back to the fabric wrapped tightly in his fist.

He feels the tension in his body leave as he slumps against the wall in defeat, the reality of the night crashing back to him like a tidal wave against the shore.

Oliver lets out a breath and it comes out closer to a whimper than anything else.

“Oliver.”

A soft hand presses gently against his chin, pulling his gaze away from the torn clothing in his hand.

“Oliver, sweetheart.”

He breaks a little bit then, because while he should be the one of strength and fortitude right now, only one person is showing such, and she’s looking at him with a concern so deep it could only come from a mother.

Oliver stares at Donna before slowly taking in his surroundings. He’s still in the bathroom – still in Felicity’s apartment because - ,

He squeezes his eyes shut.

“S’time is it?” He whispers, his voice dry from lack of use.

“5:30.” Donna says softly. “I couldn’t really sleep – guess you couldn’t either.”

She squeezes his arm, “C’mon. Let’s get you to the couch. You’ll be no use tomorrow if you’re dead on your feet.”

She pulls Oliver up, so much strength held in her petite frame, and the way she sets her jaw and furrows her eyebrows is so _Felicity_ that Oliver can’t help the surge of affection that floods his body. He lets her pull him along absentmindedly, his feet shuffling as she maneuvers them out of the bathroom and around the coffee table.

He’s just so _tired._

He can feel the fatigue, can feel it seeping much further into his bones than it ever really did during his five years away on the island and it flushes out any sort of resistance from Oliver’s will. He lets her gently push him down on the couch – lets her slowly pull off his shoes.

Donna’s breath hitches slightly as she grasps his hand, and it’s then that Oliver realizes that he’s still holding onto Felicity’s shirt.

Donna pries it from his fingers so, _so_ gently, almost as if she’s scared he’ll protest, before she stands up and places a maternal hand under his chin.

Oliver’s massive frame engulfs the small couch, his legs hanging off the arm in a way that would be comical had it not been for the situation.

Still, Donna thinks, he looks smaller than ever.

She crouches back down when she sees the way Oliver’s expression shift – when she watches as his jaw clenches tightly in an attempt to ease the emotion behind his eyes.

Donna brushes her fingers against Oliver’s forehead, sweeping away the strands of hair that had fallen into his eyes.

She watches as his eyes fall shut, and she knows the second he loses the battle against sleep because his face is void of the years of tension and torture that have cemented themselves into his being.

He looks so young, and it’s with a sad smile that Donna takes in this mysterious man that her Felicity has come to know.

“I don’t know who you are in Felicity’s life, Oliver Queen, but I’m glad you’re in it.”

*******

When Oliver wakes it’s to the sharp ring of raised voices and exasperated huffs.

He lurches forward, pulled from a dreamless sleep, and it takes him longer than he’d like to admit to realize where he is.

He’s just focusing in on the pink heels he’d left balanced on the coffee table when a door flies open and Felicity marches in, cheeks flushed, eyes blazing, and… dressed for work?

Felicity’s eyes widen as she takes in the man on her couch.

Her pink lips form a small “o” and she’s about to say something, but another blonde marches swiftly through the doorway, an expression similar to her daughter’s seared onto her face.

“ _Felicity.”_

Felicity rears, spinning to face her mother.

“ _Mom.”_

Her voice is loud, bold, so - so _Felicity._ The absolute opposite of the girl that Oliver had found in the bathtub the night before.

“You are not going to work.”

“I am absolutely going to work.”

The two Smoak women speak at the same time, and Oliver quickly realizes that the fiery look Felicity gets when she’s livid is undeniably hereditary.

“Mom,” Felicity starts, her voice much gentler. “I’m _fine._ ”

Donna bristles, her eyebrows furrowing as she fixes a piercing look onto her daughter.

“You are _not_ fine.”

“ _Mom_ ,” Felicity tries again, placing her hands on her Donna’s arms. “What happened yesterday was – was a freak accident. It happens. It sucks, yeah, but it happens. I’m okay. I just – I can’t - ,”

Felicity takes a staggering breath.

“The sooner I get back to work, the sooner things go back to normal, and the sooner this will all blow over.”

Oliver doesn’t miss the way her voice wavers – doesn’t miss the bruises on her face that she’s tried to cover up with makeup nor the way she wraps her arms around her midsection so tightly he thinks she might snap.

Donna looks at her incredulously before turning her gaze on Oliver.

Felicity must realize he’s still there then, because she jumps and a small “oh!” falls from her lips.

“Oliver!” Surprise clouds her voice.

Oliver stands up slowly, dragging a hand down his face and ignoring the way the muscles in his back pull painfully.

“What are you doing here?” Felicity asks, her tone a blend of frantic hysteria and confused. “When did you get here?”

“I stayed, from last night,” Oliver says quietly, his voice coming out gravely and ragged. He watches her slowly, gaging her reaction to _last night_. “After the police left.”

“Stayed?” Felicity asks, her voice raising in question. “Why – why – you were here last night?” She turns to her mother. “The police were here?”

Oliver tilts his head in confusion, watching as the strong façade that Felicity had painted on starts to fall away. A million questions fly through his head – how does she not remember? Was she drugged? Did she hit her head?

Felicity looks absolutely distraught as her eyes flit back and forth between him and her mother.

Oliver takes a small step forward, “Felic - ,”

Felicity backs up slightly, eyes wide, and Oliver freezes.

“I – I need to go to work,” Felicity insists, her voice not nearly as confident as it had been earlier. “I’m fine, I swear, I’m fine.”

Her voice trails off as her eyes fall onto the shoes on the coffee table. There’s a smattering of blood on the inside of the left heel, and Oliver sees the instant she takes it in.

Her shoulders drop – her whole face drops – and Oliver watches silently as she presses her lips tightly together, somehow making herself seem even smaller.

“Felicity - ,”

Donna places a hand on her daughter’s shoulder, but Felicity steps out of reach.

She moves forward, slowly scooping up the heels and pulling them to her chest. Oliver’s heart breaks at how vulnerable she looks – at how _young_ she looks. It’s as if she’s a foreigner in a room that she has made her home.

Donna moves closer to her and slowly brushes the hair that had fallen into her face.

“Felicity, baby, you’re not fine. You can’t even _remember -_ ,”

“Momma,” Felicity says, voice so quiet Oliver has to hold his breath to hear it. He feels like an intruder – like he shouldn’t be there – so he stands stone still and waits silently.

“I – I remember what happened, okay? Maybe not _everything_ after, but - ,” she sighs. “I was mugged and it spooked me, but I’m okay.”

She turns around to face Donna.

“But I need to go to work. And you _have_ to go back to work. I can’t be the reason you lose your job - ,”

“ _Felicity Megan Smoak,”_ Donna’s voice is both parts gentle and insistent. “I could care less about some stupid, ratty, job - ,”

“Momma, please.”

“I can’t leave you, Felicity. Not like this. You’re my daughter – my _baby - ,”_

“But you can’t afford to lose this job!”

“I don’t care about my job, Felicity!

“Mom, really. It’s okay. I’ll have Oliver. I’ll have Dig. I’m okay – I’m sorry I scared you - ,”

“ _Felicity,_ baby.”

Felicity keeps talking, her eyes growing wider, tone growing more resolute, “Momma, I promise, promise, promise to call you every day. But I can’t live with myself if you get fired for missing work.”

Felicity’s eyes are downright pleading, and Oliver can see Donna’s resolve start to shift.

“Momma, trust me. I’ll be okay.”

“You’ll call me every, single, day.”

“Scout’s honor,” Felicity raises her right hand, eyes comically large, and for a second she looks just like she did when she promised not to scour the internet for Oliver’s past discretions during his playboy days.

She looks like _his_ Felicity. The one with bold intentions and accidental innuendoes and brightly painted fingernails. Not the shell of a person she was last night.

Donna’s will breaks then, and her eyes flit over to Oliver’s large form.

His face twists at the question she holds in her eyes, but he offers her a stiff nod.

_Of course he’ll look after her._

Of course he will. He’ll never not.

Still, Oliver has a lot to say about Felicity’s desire to go into the office.  

It’s like Felicity can hear his thoughts.

She turns slowly and eyes the man in the corner uneasily. Donna quietly excuses herself to pack up her things, and soon enough Oliver finds himself alone with Felicity.

He doesn’t know why he’s so uneasy all of a sudden, and the way Felicity looks just as anxious does nothing to ease his nerves.

“Felicity -,”

“Oliver -,”

“You go,” Oliver offers gently, not making any move to step forward or crowd her.

Felicity presses her lips together before shaking her head fiercely.  Her arms are back around her waist, and Oliver feels his insides twist when she looks up at him almost fearfully.

“Felicity,” Oliver breathes, desperate to know what she’s thinking.

Felicity and Oliver have always toed a narrow line between friend and something more – between CEO and Executive Assistant and Vigilante and IT Girl.

It’s a line that’s unspoken and unseen – one that they dance around with fleeting glances and gentle touches. He doesn’t know where he stands in this post island world, he doesn’t know where he stands with Laurel or his sister or his mother.

Now, he’s questioning where he stands with his Girl Wednesday.

He takes a step forward again, relief flooding through him when Felicity remains where she is. It’s short lived though, because -,

“Can you just go?”

Oliver reels back, as if he’s been slapped, and Felicity’s squishing her eyes together in the way that she does when she’s said something she truly doesn’t mean.

“I don’t – I didn’t mean,” Felicity sighs. “Can _we_ go? Can we just forget about last night and go to work? I -I just - ,”

Her gaze falls to the floor, and Oliver has to suppress the urge to grab her by the arms and shake her because she had _terrified_ him last night.

Instead he crosses his hands over his broad chest, his white dress shirt crinkled from his night on the couch.

“Felicity. I don’t want you in the office today.”

It’s Felicity’s turn to look burned. She pulls away from Oliver completely, keeping the coffee table in between the two of them.

“It’s not up to you,” Felicity starts, but Oliver cuts her off.

“It is. It is up to me, Felicity.”

“I’m not a child, Oliver. I got mugged yesterday, big whoop - ,”

“ _Felicity,”_ Oliver interrupts, his loud and demanding, and Felicity’s eyes go wide at the frantic pitch of his voice. “You were mugged yesterday. _Maybe_. We don’t know.” His voice lowers as his eyes flash towards the door where Donna had disappeared through.

“We don’t know if this is Hood related – if they found out who I was and - ,”

“And why would they target me, Oliver?”

Oliver pauses then, his mouth snapping shut. Felicity continues talking, her voice growing just as fiery as Oliver’s.

“Why would they go after me? Why not Laurel? Why not Thea?” Felicity tightens her arms around her waist. “I’m an IT Girl turned EA. I’m a nobody. Targeting me would be like targeting Walter’s EA, or Mr. Jeremy Fisher down in Accounting. Doesn’t make sense.”

Felicity shakes her head again, her eyes matching Oliver stare in both intensity and defiance. Oliver opens his mouth to speak, but Felicity isn’t finished.

“You can’t wrap me up in a bubble, Oliver. This is the real world, girls get attacked in the night, people do bad things. I don’t need to tell you that for you to know that.” She sets her jaw, stance firm. “I’m going to work.”

Oliver steps forward, irritation and desperation flaring in his chest.

“No,” he says, his voice coming out low and harsh. “You’re not.”

He doesn’t really have anything to say to counter Felicity’s arguments. She’s right – he knows it. She definitely knows it. Aside from the many rumors about their possible inappropriate work relationship – a rumor that is there mostly for gossip than for credibility – Felicity wouldn’t exactly be the highest one on the “People to Target to Provoke Oliver Queen” list.

Something in Oliver’s chest tugs at that thought.

“ _Yes,_ I am.” Felicity says, and Oliver looks up to see her eyes brimming with frustrated tears. Her jaw is set and her fists are clenched and her bottom lip is quivering in such a way that makes him want to hit himself for causing it. If it were any other day, Oliver would have given in.

But then he sees the bruise lining the outside of her jaw – sees the pair of shoes in her hands that are stained with blood.

He remembers the catatonic girl he had to pull out from under a stream of scalding hot water and the fear that fills his body is crippling.

He steps around the coffee table, closing the distance between the two of them, and places a gentle hand on Felicity’s shoulder.

He sighs in relief when she doesn’t pull away, his heart thrumming faster in his chest as she unconsciously presses into him.

“Spend the day with your mother before she leaves,” he says softly, his voice much gentler than before. “Talk to her, let her in, I don’t know.” Oliver sighs. “She was terrified, Felicity. So was Dig. _So was I_.”

Felicity keeps her face turned down, and Oliver feels his arm dampen as one of Felicity’s tears drops down her cheek. “If you’re feeling up to it after lunch, then you can come in. But call me first.”

He doesn’t mention his plan on having Dig keep an eye on Felicity – doesn’t mention that he, himself probably won’t step foot in the office that day.

He has more important work to do.

Felicity doesn’t say anything – doesn’t so much as look up at him – and it’s Donna’s footsteps that pull Oliver away from the small blonde.

He smiles at Felicity’s mother.

“I’ve got to go. Felicity’s taking the day off,” he flashes a pointed look at Felicity who’s still avoiding his gaze. “It was nice meeting you.”

He can see Donna wants to say something more, but a feeling of anxiety and panic pulls at him in a way that it hasn’t since after his first year on the island and he finds himself gathering his shoes and suit jacket in a hurry.

He offers one last grim smile to Donna before snatching his keys from the island.

It’s only when he’s outside in the fresh air that Oliver realizes he’s shaking. His breathing is erratic and his heart is beating far too fast and he has to brace himself against the side of the building to ground himself.

After a few steadying breaths, he glances up and down the street. He sends out a silent thanks to Dig’s proactiveness in staving off any press before stalking towards his car.

His reflection looms up at him from the side of his car, and Oliver cringes at the dark bags beneath his eyes and the small spots of stark red blood soaked into his white dress shirt. His stubble has passed well into beard territory by now and he’s considering just letting it be as he fumbles with the keys. He’s got one foot in the car when he hears footsteps behind him, and his hand grasps the handle so tightly his knuckles grow white.

“Oliver!”

Oliver’s shoulders sag in relief and then go rigid for an entirely different reason.

He turns around stiffly, a strained smile forcing its way across his exhausted features.

“Laurel,” he manages out tightly. “Hi.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Please let me know what you think!!

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading my dudes, let me know what you think!
> 
> (Also thanks to all the kudos and reviews left on my other work. I've been having a tough time/situation with a friend recently - a few friends - and you're words always light my life.)
> 
> Love you all!!! :)


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